The Arrogant Emu

1: Tanya’s question - What kind/part of a musical piece would you be?

Well, it’s been a longstanding ambition of mine to be the St. Matthew Passion. But in more general terms, I’d definitely be something with words, and something with multiple parts and styles of music - I mean, chorales against arias against recitatives, all wound up in a big incredible chorus. So, a Bach Passion or Oratorio.

2: Martin’s Question - Miss Nehring, what Earthly language do you most regret not yet having learned?

There are all sorts of languages that I passionately want to learn, but for ones I regret not having learned already? Hmm. I regret not having known Spanish well enough to have used it fluently in Spain, but since I know some of it, that might not quite count. I think I would have to say Latin, because if I had learned Latin, I would have looked better to graduate schools, and I wouldn’t still have to make arrangements for learning it.

3: Julia’s Question - Miss Nehring, if you had to choose between watching a Teletubbies marathon or a Power Rangers marathon, which would you choose and why?

hhh……hhhh…. ::brain shudders at the inconcievable horror:: Can’t I just choose to be Cthulhu’s hairstylist, for comparable trauma? Well, if it must be a case of choosing my poison, it would have to be the Teletubbies. I haven’t seen much of them, but they just seem alien enough that my brain wouldn’t keep trying and failing to make something coherent out of them, as with the Power Rangers.

4: Anne’s Question: miss nehring, how can you be a mere mortal and yet be so awesome?

Because I use Sprill toothpaste! The choice of professionals! "Well, I’ve been a professional for about ten years, and every day I use Sprill toothpaste. I use it for everything - badger-baiting, motor oil, and keeping my teeth as shiny and white as the day they were minted. Plus it makes a lovely cake topping. Look! Sprill rose!"

Only $9.95 plus shipping and handling and footling.

Is there any way to say "No one understands me" without sounding self-pitying?

You know, I just realized this entry would be what I would blog if I was feeling partiuclarly misunderstood, but not wanting to be self-pitying. But in this case I’m not; I’m just curious.

Both of my summer adventures (Italy and Spain) have, I just noticed, concluded with an event that reminded me even at the time of the Day of Judgement. In quite different ways.

So I’ve got a nifty cool interview idea! Everyone who wants to be interviewed get in a big circle, right? Good, now, each of you, make a ‘post questions here’ post on your blog for people to comment on. Then go around and ask everyone who wants to be interviewed a question, on their respective commenting posts. They could be inspired by the person as known through years of blogging - "Mr. Marks, who are your favorite robots and why?" "Miss Nehring, where will your blogos characters be in ten years?" or random conversation starters "Ms. Hadlock-Piltz, if you could pick a historical period and social class to be born into, when and which?" or just things that have been preying on your mind. "Hey, Anne, don’t you think "nugatory" is a neat word? I do. Nugatory nugatory nugatory."

Dad and the older guys* and Cola the dachshund went out on a camping trip, where we ate steak ("My stomach isn’t that big!" cried Anna disconsolately, looking at her portion), threw things into the fire, and discussed dreams in the tent ("And there was this cool Matrix dream - and when I woke up, I really had pulled the electrodes off my forehead.")

That was in Vermont; the next day we drove to Mount Washington, where we commenced to climb. I’d been expecting we’d have to tuck the dog into a water-bottle container and carry her up, but she bounded along happily, and was racing on ahead when I (to my shame) was wheezing and lagging. I have a bad habit of undertaking expeditions with people physically weaker than I am; I need to spend more time around those who are stronger so I do not get inflated opinions of my own stamina!

Mike sprinted up the mountain, and was waiting for us about half an hour at the hut. It reminded me of Spain - bunks in dormitories, a wide communal eating hall, young volunteerish-looking types ladling out energy food for the travellers coming in, some with peregrino-style backpacks. Anna threw out something in her neck - we’re all loosly put together but she takes it to extremes - and demonstrated that whether Nehring or Whanger, we all evince the same stoic obstinacy. (We come by it honestly too)

There was a cog railway at the top, puffing great plumes of coal smoke that stank up its whole path up the mountain. A whole crowd of Orthodox Jews were walking about up there, mostly young couples, the men with their tzitzit dangling and their side curls wound around their ears against the fierce wind, and the women in long grey skirts. Damn, Orthodox women are hot. (Though I suspect that’s not the reaction I’m supposed to have.)

The dog didn’t even tire on the way down, though all of her human companions were footsore, and Dad and I staggering along on painful knes which protested at every stress. And so to the car, and so back home, with Mike and I in the front, blasting German industrial music which served to keep him awake, and which couldn’t suffice to keep those in the bak seat from their weel-earned sleep.

*Refresher course for anyone not versed in Nehring family lingo. There are seven kids, divided informally into ‘the older guys’, aka ‘the big guys’ and ‘the guys’ (Katherine, Michael, Anna, and Jonathan, 20 - 14) and ‘the little guys’ (David, Martha, and Sarah, 9 - 4)

I realized something while I was at church the other day (completely unrelated to whatever was being talked or sung about at the time). Life is not a race.

It’s easy to make that mistake, though, what with deadlines and aging and things. With a personality already prone to turn everything into a competition, and an instinct for thrift almost if not quite equalling that of my character of a few blogs back, I had been feeling guilty about the amount of time I would spend before getting into the Peace Corps, and how big a chunk of life that would be out of my allotment. But, I realized, who’s counting? Who’s measuring the rest of my life except for me? As long as I’m doing what I should be doing, how can I possibly be wasting my time?

Besides, what on earth would I be racing for? The end of my life? That might be tomorrow, and in any case, why hurry? I’ve already outlived Joan of Arc. Getting a doctorate before I’m twenty-five? It’d be nice, but hardly a goal in itself. No, it’s time to do what it’s time to do, and nobody but companies and governments and grad schools can tell me my life is a race. (I won’t believe them, though. Secretly.)

And now the time approaches to leave home. It’s been a good two weeks; all of the older kids were home, and all are leaving in the space of three days (with the exception of Blin). I painted my staircase, completing my record of every post-college summer meesing around with house repair and lime, no matter what else the summer involved. I learned about cars (a pittance, at least) and how to make bread on a grill, and I climbed Mount Washington.

Isn’t it frustrating when the only people who would get a joke or a terribly witty remark are the ones who would be offended by it?

We were reading "Macbeth", chiefly for Blin’s education. He was exceedingly reluctant and delivered his lines in a monotone, while I lettered "I [heart] Alyosha Karamazov" on my arm with a dry-erase marker. I was wearing a black open-back tank top, and thought I looked exceedingly macho. Or something. Closer to the something, I guess.

"Why don’t you try making plurals? That always calms me right down. Hairbrushes. Matrices. Children. Fish-"

"I AM TALKING ABOUT THE FUTURE OF THE HUMAN RACE!"

"Cards. Mothers-in-law. Cacti."

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?"

"Ooh, and one of my favorites- octopodes!"

Today I learned a lot more about the braking system and helped replace the brake pads on the right rear wheel; also a belt on the air conditioning system. I learned how to recognize an M-16, and had a chance to observe how my paint behaves on the second coat. Also my sib and I plotted how to make an entirely new genre of music, ate dinner under an umbella in a perfectly marvellous thunder-and-lightning storm, triple-stepped to "Mitternacht" and danced to a techno version of the German theme for the televised show of ‘Pippi Longstocking’, demonstrated our various physical disciplines (bujitsu, capoeira, and gymnastics) on the damp grass of the golf course, watched the second "Terminator" movie, and a few episodes of Futurama.

There was even a thought that I had here, but I forgot it. Eh, thoughts’re overrated.